Maybe
by Her Ghost Eyes
Summary: In which Cas comes back, Sam needs to get laid, and Dean nearly falls off a roof.


Because I love Cas so much it physically hurts and I want him to come _back _already *sobs into trenchcoat*

Enjoy the fluffiness that is this fic (This is a whole new thing for me. I'm so used to writing angst that I had to stop myself from turning this horribly depressing)

(Yes, I did this to Maybe by Ingrid Michaelson because I am a masochist who likes having her heart torn to pieces)

Set some time between 7x02 - 7x05

Enjoy. Hopefully!

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><p><em>'Cause maybe in the future<br>You're gonna come back  
>Gonna come back around <em>

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><p>When Dean Winchester wakes, he stares at the ceiling for a good three hours. Just lies there and thinks about nothing.<p>

Sam walks past his comfy hotel bed, asks him if he wants coffee, and then finally gives up when he doesn't answer. Sam leaves the motel room - to give Dean space, he can only assume. Or maybe to go get laid. The kid definitely needs it. He's like a walking talking bundle of UST.

So Dean lays there and stares blankly at the ceiling. His chest feels hollow, like just before Cas left – _died, _the traitorous part of his mind whispers – he shoved his hand through Dean's chest and stole his heart. Dean lays there until his legs grow numb and spark with pins and needles and his vision glimmers with white spots.

And then he gets up, grabs his leather jacket, and leaves.

He doesn't know what makes him do it, really. He's stupid for doing it, but he can't help himself. He stumbles past the huge window that sits at the front of the room. Outside, sheets of water fall from the sky. Black clouds dwell in groups, like some sort of half-assed omen.

But he throws open the hotel room door and stalks out anyway.

He doesn't know why. He can't stop. He's like a train barreling along at full speed, just waiting for the engine to sputter and to go flying off the rails.

He ascends the stairs outside their hotel room, the ones that lead up to the roof. The hotel is one of those fancy ones, like Caviar, twenty-four hour buffet-style fancy, and it's a good twelve floors until he reaches the top. His hand grasps the knob of the dilapidated old door. It looks like it hasn't been touched, let alone opened, in a long, long time.

He feels like his heart is going to explode from his chest. He doesn't know why.

_Cas. _

Dean tells himself he's a fool, because he is. He has never really been one to nurture false beliefs. He doesn't know why he should start now.

Not with Cas gone.

Not with Sam like he is.

Not with the world in turmoil.

Even if Cas _didn't _die – which is unlikely, but Dean entertains the thought, just for a second – why would he come back to Dean? To Sam? Why wouldn't he just go back to heaven, and leave the Winchesters to save their own world, when damn it, _they can't save the world without Cas, _because he's the only thing that keeps them going, but he's probably sick as hell of them by now?

He can't even blame Cas for betraying them anymore. He wants to, but he can't.

He hates himself for that.

He hates himself for a hell of a lot, actually.

The wind tears at his clothes, grappling at him. He ignores it and walks to the edge of the roof, sitting down and throwing his legs over the side.

If Sam was here to see what he was about to do, he'd either laugh so hard he burst a blood vessel or get that constipated It's Okay To Have These Feely Feelings Let's Talk About This Over Hot Cocoa face.

Dean can't bring himself to care.

"Cas," he begins, and his voice cracks painfully. He runs a hand through his mussed hair irately. "Man, I wish you were here right now. You'd know what to do. This leviathan bitches – they're creepy as fuck, man. And we can't _kill _them. They're not even fazed by Sammy's singing voice." Dean smiles softly. "You'd probably get that adorable look on your face, too, the one that means you have no clue what's going on but you'll roll with it."

His eyes ache with the strain of keeping the goddamn stupid tears back. He swallows heavily. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry for not accepting your – well – sort of apology before you died. I mean, I never thought you'd actually _die. _You always bounce back. Like, some creepy billabong or something."

"I think I must have obtained that attribute from you and your brother," a soft voice, laced with fondness, comments from behind him.

Dean's so surprised he nearly falls off the roof.

A firm hand grips him and pulls him back from the edge. Dean stares with wide eyes at his companion, because, God, no, this is just too horrible. Who would want to pull such a cruel trick on him?

Half of the population of America, actually. But that was beside the point.

"Um," is all Dean says.

Because he's an idiot.

In his defence, what the hell are you _supposed _to do when I'm-not-even-sure-if-that's-really-Castiel Castiel turns up on your doorstep. Well, on the roof of the expensive hotel you sort-of-but-not-quite rented a room from.

But whatever.

Cas smiles, his face so gentle and sincere that Dean's heart aches.

"You're not real," Dean tells the not-quite-Cas flatly.

Not-quite-Cas looks genuinely amused. "And why not?"

"Because you died. In the river. I saw you." He looks around. "This is probably just a dream. Yeah, that's right. A dream." Yeah, that sounds right. And yet strangely disappointing. "When I was lying on the bed, I fell back asleep again. That's it."

Cas chuckles gently. "Yes, Dean," he says good-humouredly. "This is a dream."

Dean looks at the angel. "I miss you, Cas," he tells the not-quite-Cas and promptly bursts into tears in the most manly way he can manage.

Cas grips his chin and lifts his head up. Dean is forced to meet the angel's eyes, which are full of so many emotions that Dean can't even begin to name them. Slowly, like he's unsure of how to go about it – of _course _dream-Cas would be awkward, too, Dean thinks with a mental snort – Cas presses his lips to the human's.

Dean leans into the touch, gripping Cas by his tie – no trench coat, Dean observes with a frown – and pulling him flush against Dean. Cas elicits a moan that sends a jolt of pleasure through Dean, and cups Dean's face with soft hands.

Dream-Cas, Dean thinks, has soft hands. Softer than any woman or man's he's ever met. Softer than anything.

They feel like home.

Something soft brushes Dean's fingers. _Wings, _he realises with some shock. _These are Cas's wings. _Or how his mind has thought them up, anyway. They're like silk beneath his fingers, moulding into his touch. Cas lets out a soft whimper of pleasure as Dean runs a gentle hand through the feathers.

And then it hits him like a freakin' tonne of bricks.

Dean would _never _be able to think up a noise like that. Something so raw coming from Cas – even _his _imagination wasn't that great.

He jerks back suddenly. "You're real," he gasps out, his heart thudding even harder in his chest. Hope blooms inside him, but he shoves it down, because, Hell, _this is impossible. _Cas is dead_. Dead. _This is completely impossible.

Cas smiles, his eyes so bright that Dean fears he might turn to ash from the pure beauty of them.

"I told you I wouldn't abandon you."

Dean swallows heavily. "No, you didn't."

Cas looks genuinely surprised. "No?" He takes a cautious step forward, like Dean is a timid puppy he's trying to befriend. "Well, I must make sure to tell you more often then."

"You were dead," Dean says stupidly. "You were _dead, _Cas. I–" He looks away, across the rooftops. The rain has soaked him through, but he can't bring himself to care. He can't bring himself to care about anything but Cas.

Cas sighs. "I don't know what happened, Dean. I am not even sure what day it is. I awoke yesterday in the middle of a field with no clue of how I happened to arrive there." He slips a gentle hand beneath Dean's chin and whispers, "Look at me, Dean."

"I thought I'd lost you, Cas," Dean exhales finally, the words leaving his mouth like a broken plea.

Cas's expression softens. "You could never lose me, Dean," he promises, nose-to-nose with Dean. "I am far too selfish for that."

"I –" Dean begins, his voice soft, but an incredulous voice from behind them stops him.

"Cas? Is that you, man?"

Dean closes his eyes. Trust his brother to ruin the moment.

He quickly forgets his annoyance when he looks up to find Cas's eyes trained on him, filled with so much love and tenderness that it very nearly stuns him. Something strangely like joy unfurls in his gut.

This, Dean thinks, is all he needs. His angel and his brother, the two people in his life who always bounce back, no matter how many times they're knocked down.


End file.
